"Dr. Anstice"—the gentleness in her voice fell like balm upon his sore spirit—"please don't say any more. We are only human, you and I; and one failure does not minimize a long-continued success."
"You mean——"
"I mean that I know—I can't tell you how, but I do know it—you have never again tried that way out of your troubles. I think," said Iris, "you have found the real way out—at last."
Her words perplexed, even while they relieved him; and he sought the meaning of them.
"The real way, Mrs. Cheniston? I wonder what you mean by that?"
"I mean," she said very softly, "you must have found the way out of your own troubles by the very act of pointing out the way to others. You have brought Chloe Carstairs back to life—oh, I know it was through you that the mystery was cleared up at last—and that alone must make you feel that whatever mistake you may once have made you have atoned for it a hundredfold. And"—for an instant Iris' voice shook—"what are you doing now but atoning for that mistake—if further atonement were necessary?"
"You mean——"
"I mean that you are here, waiting for the Bedouins to attack us at any moment, waiting to fight for us women, ready, if need be, to die on our behalf." The words fell very softly on the quiet air. "And though I pray that God will send us help so that no life may be sacrificed I know"—Iris' eyes shone, and her voice rang suddenly like a clarion call—"I know that I—that we are safer with you than with any other man in the world...."
Carried away by her trust in him Anstice turned to her impulsively.
"Mrs. Cheniston, I can't thank you enough for those words. God knows I would willingly, gladly die to shield you from any harm; and if help should not come in time, and I should lose my life, well, please believe two things—firstly, that since that dreadful night I have never—failed—in that way again; and secondly, that to die in your service"—so much he might surely say in this poignant hour—"would be a death which any man might envy me."